Skye Falling
by TheWaiter
Summary: She heard that Hannah Baker had killed herself two weeks before, and she wonders if she'll be next. She's falling; she knows it. The only question now: is there anyone left to catch her?


**Authors Note: I love Skye's character in this one.**

**Skye Falling**

Will _he_ catch her?

She's sitting on a bus, darkened streets whizzing by her large, flat window as he disappears into the night, standing on a corner, placing two tiny ear buds into his ears. It's ironic to her that he can listen to music, walk around as if nothing was wrong with the world. But there is. There's so much wrong with her cracked and brittle life that she wants to scream. Oftentimes, she does.

She mouths his name, _Clay Jensen_, as the bus speeds away, continuing on her endless loop. Briefly, she wonders what ever happened to him; to _them_, the two kids in eighth grade who were smitten, even crushing on one another.

If she was being honest with herself, she'd admit that she'd seen the crush in his eyes, and had been so happy that it was reciprocated. But then they'd both gone to high school and drifted apart, the cracks in the foundation of her world became far to large to ignore. She distanced herself from the world, while he seemed enshrouded in it.

What had Clay Jensen done to deserve a shining reputation and a nice guy persona that she hadn't tried?

That was a little cruel to think about, Skye admonished herself. He was genuinely a nice guy. Not nice as in "this is my friend Pete, he's really nice", but completely, unselfishly _nice,_ capable of empathy and a caring that ran deeper than anyone ever really saw.

It seemed that whoever he touched, he touched for the better. She let her breath out, watching as it fogged up the window, blocking out her own reflection. Two weeks before, Hannah Baker had committed suicide.

She wondered if she would be next.

* * *

"Skye."

At the sound of his voice, a hope bloomed so much that it was painful; bursting out of her rib cage. _Clay Jensen._

The voice was close, as if he'd walked right behind her, determination fuelling his steps. He was mere feet away when she turned around, her brown eyes meeting his hazel ones, kind eyes. Her gaze fell to the bags that surrounded them, a small smirk on her lips. _I'm not the only one who didn't sleep last night._

"Clay." She returned, the damn smirk still on her lips. Her mind immediately went into shun mode, preparing to push him away like she'd pushed so many others. She needed to do this; she needed to distance herself as much as possible, live through life as if she were floating.

"Listen, can I talk to you for a second?" He asked, one arm looping around to scratch at his neck, absently. She followed the movement with her eyes, her own hands holding her backpack straps, thumbs tucked underneath.

He seemed anxious, as if he could see right through what she was contemplating doing and was determined to stop it. The raw emotion that shone in his eyes startled her and frightened her. She'd been hurt so many times, she couldn't bear to be hurt by _him_, of all people. And he would hurt her. Everyone hurt her.

"I'm really sorry, Clay, but I have to get going to… class." She hesitated before saying the last word, eyes drifting away from his momentarily, as if she couldn't bear lying to him. And she couldn't. She wasn't a liar.

"Please." He said, voice dropping a little.

Her eyes wandered back towards his, attempting to flee his gaze, acquiescing when his eyes held it prisoner. _I liked you, Clay. I really liked you. Please don't make me push you too._

She huffed, putting on her irritation face. "Clay, I am sorry, but I'm late already and quite honestly, I don't think we have much to say to each other." There it was. The bitch unleashed. Now he would walk away, slightly hurt, pride smarting, and she'd add his name to her list of emancipated boys.

Which was an eon better then adding him to her list of those who had stolen her world.

Nothing could've prepared her for his reaction. Understanding seemed to flood his eyes, and for a brief moment it was if he understood, as if he saw what she had gone through to push her to this point and saw the blood and tears she'd shed. She felt the ache deep in her chest. _How…_

Before she could accuse him, maybe run away, he moved, quickly. He gently enclosed his arms were around her, one hand placing her head on his shoulder, the other on the small of her back. The embrace was not quite platonic, but not sensual, either. It was an invitation.

_Lean on me._

She couldn't stop the wetness from enclosing her eyes as she managed to put up a minor fight, going rigid, her fists clenched at her sides, her gaze focused on an errant hair curling over his collar, the smell of soap and fabric softener reaching her nostrils.

He'd leaned down, and whispered in her ear. "It's okay, Skye. You're okay."

She'd then let go, her arms hugging him back, her face buried in his shoulder. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and completely broke down, her fingers clutching the plain grey sweater he wore, her eyes leaking tears onto the clean smell of him. Fingers in her hair, massaging her scalp, whispers and promises.

Where the foundation had been falling, he was suddenly a pillar, a light in the darkness, and she was so grateful for the support, the comfort, _finally._

She was too tired to be ashamed of how easily she'd broken, she was too scared to admit for help, but he'd seen it anyways. The exhaustion gripped her, and she leaned more heavily into him, breathing him in, the sobs subsiding slowly.

Eventually, throughout his stroking and reassurances, throughout his whispers and his comfort, she calmed. Now he wasn't a shoulder to cry on, he was just… feeling. She stirred on his shoulder, her head moving to look at his throat, smiling slightly. She wiped her nose, and pulled back to look at him.

His arms immediately dropped, and he smiled down at her. She was shocked to see tears in his eyes, too. Their eyes locked, and she unceremoniously swiped at her cheeks, sniffing.

"Do you want to talk now?" he asked, the low tone still permeating his voice.

She stared. "Uh… I… okay." She said, shuffling slightly. "Where?"

Clay shrugged. "Why not go to Rosie's? We can grab something to eat, catch up. It's been forever since we've talked, Skye." He said, his tone light.

She raised an eyebrow. "You wanted to talk about… me?"

"Well… yeah. I mean, I'm not expecting you to give me a biography, but I'd like to get to know you again." His teeth showed in his next smile, and she wondered at the tone he now had, as if she hadn't stained his sweater with her tears, as if he hadn't randomly called her name and suddenly hugged her, comforted her, sensed that she was breaking.

With a start, she realised that he wasn't content to just hold the dam up; he was going to try and repair it before the floodgates could break.

"Only if you tell me if the rumours are true."

He looked surprised. "What rumours?"

"The Clay Jensen rumours. How suddenly you're the nicest guy in school, and that you went to a _party_ a little while ago." She punctuated the statement with a shocked expression, eyebrows shooting up, mouth agape.

He laughed at the look on her face, and then sighed as it ended, shaking his head. "Hey, I've been to parties before."

"Uh huh."

"I have! It's not my fault that I get tested on Mondays, you know."

She shook her head. "So now you're a goody two shoes. Oh, Clay."

He hummed and nodded, acting as if he were sympathizing with himself as well. She chuckled, and was shocked at the sound coming out of her own mouth. He smiled at her warmly, and her face shifted to mirror his expression.

"Anyways, you got me off topic. Sneaky. Let's go to Rosie's."

"I'm not sure I want to go to Rosie's with someone as crushingly good as you."

He rolled his eyes. "If it makes you feel better, I swear to dine and dash when we get there." She laughed and he offered his arm in a grand gesture. "Milady?" He said, his eyes sparkling.

She rolled her eyes, and took the proffered arm. As they turned to head out the front doors, she stretched across his shoulder, kissing his cheek. "Thank you, Clay."

Clay smiled back. "Any time, Skye. Now onward; to fattening foods!"

"Whatever are you implying, Clay?"

Years later, she'd wonder at the boy that she knew, who listened to her, _really _listened to her talk, who treated her to fries and shakes, held her hand while she cried, pushed her to get help and to shed the feelings of loneliness and brokenness that had followed her high school time like a dark cloud.

Because of him, she was able to enjoy her senior year; truly enjoy it in a way that had seemed impossible to her at the time. And as he listened to her; she'd listened to her.

Before Skye could fall, Clay had pulled her from the edge, and had talked her down from jumping at all.

She would be eternally grateful to Clay Jensen.

The boy who caught her.

* * *

A/N: Strangely enough, this was inspired by reading Office fanfiction. But you do what you have to do.

Insert pleas for reviews here.

-- The Waiter.


End file.
